


all the ways in which we won

by JBS_Forever



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It, i just need to bring tony back, that's all this is, time heist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-02-26 19:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBS_Forever/pseuds/JBS_Forever
Summary: **ENDGAME SPOILERS**Four months after Tony's funeral, Peter comes home to find a mysterious box on his desk. The universe, it seems, is done waiting for him to move on.It gives him another option instead.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter's fingertips graze the side of the building as he tumbles headfirst down the eleven stories below. Alarms ring through his mask, colors dancing across his viewfinder while he twists in the air and mutters, “Shit, shit!”

He's so tired.

“Thirty feet until impact,” Karen warns. “You have not reinstalled your parachute after the last fall, Peter.”

“Don't need a lecture, Karen!”

Peter tries to right himself enough to fire a web. There are walls on either side of him, and nothing close enough in front to connect to. His brain flashes through options as fast as it can. Collide into the building. Create a canopy below to catch him. Aim in the distance and hope for the best. What does he have time for? What will work?

“Karen – agh!” He yelps, jolting when a hand circles his ankle, grip firm and steady, and pulls, yanking him away from the approaching ground. He squirms and cranes his neck, shielding his eyes against the sun to see who has caught him.

“Oh,” he says, relaxing. “Hey, man.”

Sam Wilson gives him a short look. “You web me and I drop you.”

“That's fair.”

They land on the roof of a shopping center two blocks over. Sam lowers him onto his hands, touching down to his right while Peter gets his feet under him. It's not the first time he's fallen in the last couple weeks, but it's the first time he's been saved by Sam, and he can tell by the irritation bleeding off him that Sam wishes it wasn't happening just as much as Peter does.

He waits for him to launch into some rehearsed monologue or lecture about not being an idiot – Peter has heard it all before – but Sam is distracted, tapping away at the bracelet on his wrist.

“How's it going?” Peter asks. “You know, the whole 'new Captain America' thing?”

“Fine,” says Sam. “How's falling off buildings?”

“Good. Really getting the hang of it.”

“I see that.”

He shifts the shield strapped to his back, and Peter feels like he's plummeting all over again. For a second that passes by like a dozen lifetimes, he sees it cracked and shattered, bloody, destroyed, Steve holding onto it like like a lifeline.

His heart seizes in his chest. He stumbles a step and blinks to clear the memories.

_We won, Mr. Stark. We won._

Sam turns his attention on him. Peter swallows. “You get to use it yet?” he asks, motioning to the shield.

“Yeah.”

“You like it?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hey,” Peter says, rocking on his heels, “Do you ever wonder why Steve picked you and not Bucky? 'Cause like, he and Bucky go really far back, don't they? Is Bucky mad that Steve picked you?”

“You'd have to ask him.” Sam activates the wings of his suit. He scans over Peter, wary and calculating, the way he did on the battlefield while Peter cried and cried and cried. Sam had been the one to calm him then, but he must find what he needs to deem him okay enough to leave now.

“Take the stairs,” he says.

Peter gives him a shaky salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

He watches Sam take off, flying back into the city to help mend what's been broken. Most of Peter's patrolling lately has been this – aiding in the rebuild, catching squatters and people breaking into boarded off apartments and shops so owners can restore and start over. Five years and only now is the world righting itself too, desperate not to fall anymore, trusting hands ready to catch it if it does.

Peter takes the stairs down to the street. He always hits the ground, one way or another. Some days it just hurts less.

\- - -

Bucky finds him later in Queensbridge in the shell of a building under construction.

“You sleeping up there, Webs?”

The sound of his voice in the comm startles Peter and he nearly tips out of the hammock he's made for himself.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks, jumbled, half-awake, but then he remembers. No. Not Tony. Tony is gone. It's been four months and six days and somehow Peter manages to catch himself in these moments where he forgets, where his thoughts are soupy and slip and slide and he can convince himself everything is the same, everyone is alive. He can convince himself they really did win.

But these moments don't last. They never do.

Bucky speaks again, softer. “It's Bucky. You all right?”

Peter ignores him. It's like anything else these days – blink and it's gone. He peers over the side of his makeshift bed to where Bucky is sitting on his motorcycle at the curb, looking up at him. The bike's engine hums softly in the quiet of the night.

“How'd you know where I was?” Peter asks, which is stupid, because, hello, trained assassin.

“You're becoming more well known for the insane places you nap and less for the crime you fight. You  _do_  fight crime still, right? Or did you settle into an early retirement?”

Peter rolls his eyes, forgetting about the mask and the dark and how high up he is. “I was just resting.”

“Okay, Grandpa.” He shoots a web at one of the concrete pillars and Bucky takes him in with a tired expression of his own, eyebrows pinched as he tracks Peter's movement to the ground. “But don't you have a bed? A real one?”

“Yeah, but I –”  _don't wanna go home_ , Peter stops himself from saying, because that's not right. Not really. He  _does_  want to go home. He wants to feel safe, at peace, but in his new room in the apartment May bought while he was gone are blue bedsheets and half-packed boxes filled with all his belongings. In the kitchen, in a drawer where he shoved it in a wave of panic, is a picture Pepper gave after the funeral of himself and Tony, smiling, joking.

Everywhere he looks, little reminders look back.

Peter spends most days wishing he could go home, but the problem is he can't go someplace that doesn't exist anymore.

“What's up, Sergeant Barnes?”

“I told you – you don't have to be so formal with me," Bucky says. "There's a guy in a weird metal suit terrorizing half of Queens. Right up your alley if you're interested.”

Peter scrubs at the spark of pain in his sternum. “You probably should have led with that.”

“Probably. You in?”

“I'm in.”

“Then let's go.”

“Wait, can I get a ride?”

Bucky revs the engine of his motorcycle. “Nope,” he says, and speeds off.

“Wow,” Peter mutters. “Save the world together and you can't even catch a ride. This job has, like, no perks at all.”

\- - -

The man in the metal suit ends up being anything but the joke Peter expects him to be. While mostly Peter has been dealing with petty theft and the occasional mugging, this is the first real panic he's felt from the city since coming back. It hums through the concrete and up his legs when he touches down in the middle of gunfire.

“What the hell is that?” he asks.

“It appears to be a rhino,” Karen says.

Behind barricades and car doors, police officers fire round after round at the hunk of metal tearing its way across the road. It's a man. Peter can see him swallowed up in the armor, protected from all sides. Bullets ricochet off him like they're made of plastic.

“What is up with everyone dressing like animals lately?”

“That's rich coming from someone named Spider-Man,” Rhodey says over the comm.

Peter tilts his head back, searching the sky. “Yeah, but I don't dress like a spider. It's different.”

“You guys gonna keep this up or can we get to work?” Bucky asks. Peter hears the sound of him loading a magazine into his gun. Heat thrums at the base of his skull. He dives to his left and narrowly avoids the heavy fist that smashes down in his place. The pavement cracks under the force.

“Jesus!” 

“Get out of there, kid,” Rhodey says.

“Don't need to tell me twice.” Aiming blindly, Peter tugs on his web and lets it take him to the top of the convenience store on the corner. He shoots another web at Rhino's legs, binding them together. Rhino breaks them apart.

“Does anyone have a plan?”

“That armor is impenetrable,” Rhodey says. “We gotta find a way to get him out of it.”

Bucky grunts. “How? Not like we can just rip him out.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “But that thing is huge. Tip him over and it won't be easy to stand back up. I bet there's a latch somewhere. No offense to him, but that thing doesn't look advanced enough to be some kind of nanotech. It looks like he made it in a basement.”

“He threw a car at me,” Rhodey says. “A  _car_.”

“Um. Sorry?”

Rhodey sighs, blowing air noisily in all their ears. “You thinking a reenactment?”

“Well ...” That's exactly what Peter is thinking. Take him down like the AT-AT walkers. Like Ant-Man. If it worked then, it should work now.

“Yeah, fine,” says Rhodey. “Whatever. I'll go high. Barnes, get ready to move in.”

Peter grins and leaps off the roof. A chorus of “hold your fire!” echoes around him. The sound of thrusters is loud. It's Germany all over again, adrenaline and excitement and the rush of something new.  _“You ever see that really old movie Empire Strikes Back?”_  Except –

Except.

There's always an 'except.'

Little reminders everywhere.

He falters, and his spider-sense warns too late. With a sickening crunch, a beefy arm slams into his stomach, sends him careening through the window of a Chinese restaurant, his breath caught in his throat. He hits the back wall and lands among shards of glass and splintered wood.

“Shit. Kid, you all right?”

Peter coughs, sucking in gulps of air. “Ow,” he says hoarsely. “That's gonna hurt tomorrow.” He can feel the bruises already beginning to form. They're grounding, in a way. Different from the pain he's used to – that numb, all encompassing ache.

He heaves himself up and out onto the street, cradling his ribs. Rhodey zips through the sky.

“Okay,” Peter says. “Lemme try this again.”

It works like it did on the airport tarmac, Rhodey diverting Rhino's attention, Peter swinging around his legs and wrapping them in layers of webs. The guy doesn't have the height Ant-Man did, but he looms tall enough to be intimidating. When he realizes what's going on, he activates a new part of his suit and two rifles slide out from a panel, straightening to point at Peter.

“Uh oh,” Peter says. “Is this because of that basement comment?”

The man snarls. Before he can say anything, Rhodey swoops down and knocks him off balance. Peter rolls out of the way when he tips toward. Dust and debris billow around the collapse. There's a rhino-sized indent in the road.

“Boom,” Rhodey says. “You mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

Peter props himself up on his elbows. Police officers inch forward, guns raised, but Bucky has already found the hatch to the suit and torn it open with his vibranium arm. He rips the guy out by the collar of his shirt.

That's it.

They've won again.

It's odd, though, how nothing feels like a victory anymore.

Peter stays until the man is arrested and then makes his way back to his apartment.

\- - -

By the time he crawls through his bedroom window, May is asleep. Her snores are soft in the stillness, two doors down at the end of the hall. They miss each other a lot these days. It's one part Peter not knowing how to talk to her, the other part not knowing how to be the same person in a new place. 

Is he the same? Maybe it's all new. New world, new apartment, new him.

He peels off his suit, wincing at the sight of purple spots blooming across his skin. They'll be gone by morning. They always are. It's one of the nice things about having an advanced healing factor. No matter how many times he falls, he always gets back up. 

He changes into his pajamas and topples face first onto his bed. Beside him, sitting on his desk, a small box catches his attention. There's a note on top.

 ** _Peter Parker_** , it says.

He frowns, reaching for it. The paper it's written on is crumpled, warn. It's not from May. May would never address him by his full name, and her notes tend to show up on pastel colored Post-Its, a few lines of reminders and a smiley face. Peter doesn't recognize this messy scrawl, but curiosity gets the better of him, has him unfolding the paper and reading across the long passages.

Time comes to an abrupt halt, all the oxygen drained from the room, all the sound in the world on mute.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “Oh my god.”

His hands shake. Panic bubbles in his chest, threatening to spill over. It can't be.

He sits up and opens the box and looks inside.

“Holy shit.”

\- - -

“I don't understand,” Ned says, his voice small and tinny over the line, Peter only half paying attention as he shoves sweaters into his backpack.

“I'll explain later, okay?” Peter pinches his phone between his ear and shoulder and carefully maneuvers the box into the cocoon of clothes he's created to cushion it. He wonders if May has any packing peanuts. He stuffs more t-shirts inside. “I just need you to cover for me.”

“Is this an Avengers thing? Are you going on a mission?”

“No. Sure. I mean, kind of? Listen, it's complicated.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Peter says, because, for the first time in a while, he thinks it's possible he might be. For the first time in a while, he thinks maybe he's found a way for them to win. For  _all_  of them to win. “Just … trust me, Ned. I need you to trust me.”

Ned doesn't miss a beat. He has been one of the few constant things in Peter's life. A familiar presence, understanding and solid and real. “I trust you,” he says.

Peter closes his eyes and exhales. It's enough for now.

\- - -

It takes almost all the money in his savings to afford the round trip bus ticket to Cambridge, but an hour after he arrives at the station, he's on his way out of New York, tucked into a seat by the window, his backpack nestled in his lap. The other passengers ignore him, shuffle by with sleep-tousled hair and grumbled complaints. Peter checks the time on his phone. It's eight in the morning. He's been awake all night, palms itching, nerves tingling. 

He hasn't stopped to think about what he's doing. All he knew from the second he opened the box is he had to do something as soon as he could, and as soon as he could is now.

The bus rumbles to life.

Peter dozes the first hour in.

He's not the same. Nothing is the same. 

But maybe he can make it better.

\- - -

At two, they pull into the station in Massachusetts and Peter catches a taxi, giving the driver the only address he knows. 

“You a student?” the driver asks, glancing at him in the rear-view.

Peter shifts in his seat. “Erm. No. Not here anyway.”

“Scouting it out?”

“Kind of.”

The driver nods like this is an everyday occurrence for him, like he's used to picking up kids with no idea where they're going. “MIT's a great school. Lots to offer.”

Peter bites his lip and looks out at the campus passing by.  _God_ , he thinks,  _Tony wanted to send me here_. It feels like a hundred years ago.

His heart thrums loudly in his ears. He should have thought this out more, should have found some other information about the person he's looking for besides the fact they work in the IT department. He hasn't even considered what he'll do if they aren't there. He doesn't have a plan. Doesn't even have a phone number. 

Which is something, he realizes as he walks through the door of the building and a blond-haired boy at the front desk smiles at him, he really should have planned for.

“Hey there, can I help you?”

“Um, yeah.” Peter hovers at the counter. “I'm looking for Harley. Harley Keener. Uh, does he still work here?”

“He does,” Blondie says. “But he's not in right now. I think he's out splicing fiber.”

Hunched in the corner, playing a game on his laptop, another boy around the same age with brown hair says, “Can't splice fiber without a license, moron. Student workers aren't allowed.” There's a nametag hanging around his neck with a picture of himself on it and the name “Damien” printed below.

Blondie blinks. “Right.” His own nametag is turned backward. He smiles again. “Well, I'm not sure where he is then.”

“Hang on,” Damien says. He pauses his game and opens a new browser, clicking through a multi-colored calendar. “Looks like he got out of class an hour ago. You might try his dorm.”

“I'm pretty sure he's one of the Nexties,” Blondie says.

“I don't know or care what that means.”

“Um.” Peter clears his throat and grips his backpack strap tighter. Blondie jumps.

“Oh! Sorry. He lives in Next House. It's a dorm. Here.” He fishes out a map from a drawer, slides it over to Peter. “It's not far from here. About a five minute walk. Just go down Memorial Drive, right past the tennis courts.”

“Thank you,” Peter says.

Blondie's face lights up. “Good luck.”

Peter needs it. Next House is huge, bigger than any dorm he's ever seen on TV. He enters through the dining area and his legs go numb. Four stories and eight wings and he can't even find the elevator. Students chatter at tables. The smell of food reminds him he hasn't eaten since yesterday, and his adrenaline is fading, the reality of the situation weighing on him.

He wants to cry. He wants to go home.

He wants –

“Peter?”

The universe, it seems, takes pity.

Though they only spoke a little bit after the funeral, both overcome by grief and loss, Peter recognizes the voice right away. Relief tightens his throat as he spins around. Harley crosses the space between them in two large steps, eyes wide and concerned, shoulders tense.

“What're you doing here? Is everything okay?”

Peter has to work his mouth a few times before any sound comes out. “I'm – everything's okay. It's – I – um.” Where does he start?

Harley leads him to a row of fancy chairs to sit down. It's too loud in here, too hard to think with all the added input. Peter, who has been falling for the last four months, who has been lost and hurting and alone, can't find the words he needs.

Instead, he scrambles for his backpack, bringing it around to his chest. “I found it,” he says, pushing aside sweaters to free the box. He passes it to Harley, who gives it – then him – a cautious look.

There's a difference between losing something you wanted and losing something that never got to be yours. One is a cut that stings for a bit. The other is a wound that never quite heals.

 _Pay attention_ , the universe says. Everyone is moving on without him.

“What is this?” Harley asks.

Peter steadies himself. “The answer,” he says. “Harley, I ... I think I found a way to bring Tony back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening scene is based on a small moment in the All-New Captain America Special #1 where a very annoyed Sam has to rescue Spider-Man.
> 
> I'm still working on my other story, but I had to write this first. I just feel like I need to fix what happened in Endgame before I can be okay enough to go back to writing like normal. You know? :/
> 
> Thanks for reading so far! 
> 
> [My Tumblr, if you wanna hang out](https://jbsforever.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, here's a super long chapter for making you guys wait forever

Harley lives in the East wing on the third floor in a single room. “A lot of us don't have roommates,” he says, as they weave past a group of students making a cardboard fort in the lounge. A girl pops her head out from behind the couch and yells, “Harley! Harley's friend! Come join us!” They don't. Harley unlocks his door, follows Peter inside, and sits down at his desk.

Peter scrubs a hand through his hair. “I know this all sounds –”

“Crazy?”

“Well – yeah," he says, because he's not stupid. It's not as if any of them had been looking for a way to bring Tony back in the first place, so to come here now with a solution to a problem no one had? He knows exactly how it sounds.

He leans against the edge of Harley's bed. Big windows open to reveal a view of the Charles River, and a breeze dances across the water, rustling the trees outside and the loose papers on Harley's desk.

Peter says, “We could bring him back. We could fix this.”

“But Dr. Banner said –”

“I know what he said.” _No more time travel_. As they stood in a semi-circle around him after Tony's funeral, learning the details of their victory, how they came back, Bruce told them there would be no more. No more stones. No more quantum realm. Their universe was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Except –

“How do you know it will work?” Harley asks.

“I don't,” Peter admits. “But if we have a chance, why shouldn't we try?”

The air stretches tight. He has the feeling they're about to set something on fire, about to break something that can never be put back together. Hold their palms over the flames and hope they don't burn. Peter has nothing to lose that isn't already lost.

“I want to help, I do,” Harley says. He moves to stand next to Peter, both of them resting their hips against the wooden bedframe. “But I wouldn't even know where to start. I'm a little rusty on my quantum time travel.”

“Yeah, same.” Peter fishes the note from the front pocket of his backpack and hands it to Harley. “ _He_ isn't, though.”

Harley is quiet while he reads over the writing. There's an explanation there, numbers and instructions and everything they need to help them get this right. Because it's not just Peter who wants Tony back. It's not just Peter who can't move on. Inside the box, cushioned away between worn-out clothes, is everything Bruce told them was over. Inside the box is two vials of Pym Particles, the solution that will bring Tony home.

Surprised, Harley says, “This is … this is –”

“Crazy?” Peter says, and Harley rolls his eyes, smiling. “I think we could do it. We've got a _Time Travel for Dummies_ guide. The only thing is, I don't know where that machine is anymore. The one they used to go back.”

“It's probably in Brooklyn.”

“What?”

“Pepper came to give us a speech when classes started,” Harley says. “They're donating some equipment to the school and she told us a lot of it is in the Stark Tower in Brooklyn now while they rebuild the compound. That would be our best bet.”

 _Our_. Peter's heart rate kicks up a notch, his vision blurring. “You're gonna help me? You'll do it?”

Harley shrugs. “I saved Tony's life once before. Might as well do it again.”

It's dizzying, the sudden relief. Peter blinks back tears, afraid if he starts crying now he might not stop. Four months and six days and in this place where he hasn't figured out how to exist, there's finally hope – something to move forward to, something to believe in.

“Just promise me something,” Harley says. He folds the note and hands it to Peter. “Make sure this is what you really want before we do this.”

“Why wouldn't –”

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand. “Let's get some food. I could hear your stomach rumbling earlier from across the dining hall.”

“Oh.” Peter blinks, taken off guard. “Um, okay. Sure.” He steps back to give Harley space as he pulls open a drawer under his bed. There are shelves there too beneath the bedframe, small ones covered in knickknacks. On the top shelf, behind a colorful, plastic firearm, is a sign that says, _**POTATO GUN MARK II**_.

“You have a potato gun?” Peter says. “That's awesome.”

Harley glances at it. “Yeah. That's an old model though.”

“How many models have you made?”

Harley closes the drawer, twirling his ID between his fingers. “Seven? Maybe eight. You can have one if you want. Come on, let's go. I'm starving.”

With the box tucked into his backpack again, Peter follows him out into the hall, turning to pull the door closed. _Pay attention_ , the universe says. _Make sure this is what you really want_ , Harley says. Peter is tired of falling.

He catches the words on the bottom of the sign before the door shuts.

 _ **YOUR PAL, THE MECHANIC**_.

He's ready to win.

\- - -

May is in the living room watching the news when he gets home. She says, “How was Ned's?” and turns off the TV.

For a second, Peter forgets about his previous lie, about asking Ned to cover for him while he skipped school and left the state. He hesitates, backtracking to see if there was suspicion in May's voice, but he doesn't find any. Ned has done exactly what Peter wanted him to.

He deposits his backpack in his room and loops back. “It was fine.”

“That's good. Leftovers are in the fridge if you want any.”

“What'd you make?”

“Pizza,” May says, and counters Peter's doubtful look with, “Make, order. Same thing. I did work either way.”

“You had to walk to the door and pay the delivery guy. That's hardly work.”

“It's a long walk. I was at the other end of the apartment _and_ I didn't grab enough for a tip so I had to go get my purse.”

“I'm so sorry for your struggle.”

Peter grabs a slice of pizza from the box in the refrigerator. May lingers by the counter, watching him.

“Happy called,” she says. Peter falters, his hand halfway to his mouth. His stomach twists.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He's going up there again on Friday. Wants to know if you're joining him this time.”

Silence settles in the apartment, in his bones, too quiet, too wrong. Why does it hurt? Peter has been invited numerous times to go upstate to visit Pepper and Morgan, and numerous times he has declined, feigned being busy or sick, ready with whatever excuse was easier than telling the truth. He wasn't sure he could handle seeing them. He's still not sure he can. But he thinks back to Harley standing at the bus station with him, telling him he'll come up on Saturday to execute their plan. He thinks back to them rattling off ideas in the dining hall, optimistic and ready. He has someone on his side. He has a new card in his deck now. It shouldn't hurt. He's going to bring Tony back. 

He says, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”

May nods. “Okay. I'll let him know.”

Peter takes a bite of pizza and chews slowly, his appetite gone. “Hey, May?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is Happy calling you? Better yet, why does Happy even have your number?”

May just smiles.

\- - -

Peter doesn't sleep.

On Thursday, he meets Ned at his locker and tells him he got him a gift for helping out.

“Dude! Is this a potato gun?” Ned whispers, cradling it close to his chest.

“Mark five,” Peter says. “Take good care of it.”

On Friday, Happy picks him up after school. Peter is quiet in the passenger seat, eyelids drooping, the car lulling him away from reality.

When he was younger, he'd have sleepovers at Ned's house and would get homesick in the middle of the night. May or Ben would come to pick him up. They'd tell him it was okay, that they'd try again next time, that one day he'd make it through the night. And this is what Peter is afraid of now. That even with this little bit of hope, he won't make it through the night. What happens to boys who get homesick when they're already home? He'll have nowhere to go. No one to pick him up. Peter wants to make it through the night while this is still real, before he starts missing something he can never have again.

“You all right, kid?” Happy asks.

“Yeah,” Peter says.

“Well look alive. We're here.”

They park in front of the cabin next to a sleek, silver car. Pepper is waiting on the porch.

“Hey, you brought the kid,” she says, smiling at Peter. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Peter says. He follows Happy up the front steps, dread creeping its way up his throat. He's come this far. He won't turn back now.

“About time,” says Sam as they walk through the door. “You guys take a detour or something?” He's in the living room, him and Bucky standing behind the couch where Morgan is playing a game on Pepper's tablet. Morgan doesn't acknowledge their entrance, even when Happy makes his way over to sit by her.

“Some of us have jobs,” Happy says.

Sam arches an eyebrow. “Really? I don't see you flying around out there saving people.”

“That new title going to your head, Wilson?”

“You guys fight like an old married couple,” says Pepper. “It's cute. Now, who's going to help me finish dinner?”

“I will,” Sam says. “Because I'm a kind and caring person like that.”

Happy grunts. “Don't know who you're trying to convince.”

“I'll help too,” Bucky says, and Sam's mouth twists.

“Can you even cook?”

“I'm an excellent cook.”

“Since when?”

Pepper pushes them both toward the kitchen, clicking her tongue. Over her shoulder, she says, “Take a seat, Peter. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back. I just need to make sure these two don't set the house on fire.”

Peter wrings his hands together. The last time he was here was during the funeral, when everyone sat on this couch and watched Tony's hologram telling them goodbye. _We won, Mr. Stark_. _We won._ Pressure builds behind his eyes. He sinks down on the opposite side of Morgan.

“What're you playing?” Happy asks.

Morgan taps on the tablet screen, her nose scrunched in concentration. “Zombie Murder,” she says.

“That sounds exactly like a game a five-year-old should be playing. Does your mom know you play this?”

“She bought it.”

“It's not that bad,” Peter says. He peers at the screen. “Get that plant there. There's a coin inside.”

“Nuh uh,” says Morgan.

“Yes huh.”

“Nooo,” she says, dragging out the word. “The coins are – oh.”

Peter grins. Pepper comes back into the living room carrying drinks. “You want some lemonade?” She hands Peter a glass. “Morgan, lemonade?”

“Can I have juice pops?” Morgan asks.

“After dinner.” Pepper gives the other glass to Happy. Something shatters from the kitchen, ceramic breaking against tile, Bucky and Sam bickering over whose fault it was. Peter startles at the noise. It feels like time is moving all wrong. One second Pepper is there, the next she's gone. One second Tony is there, and then – no. He's just a hologram. Just a dream. Peter is holding his palms over the flames. _We won. We won. We won_.

“Kid?”

“Sorry,” he says.

“You sure you're all right?” Happy asks. “You're acting weirder than normal, and that's not easy to do.”

“I'm okay.” Peter takes a sip of lemonade and lets it soothe the ache in his throat. “It's just, being back here again is kind of –”

“Shit?” Morgan offers, and Peter chokes, coughing to disguise the laugh she's startled out of him.

“Whoa,” he says. “I don't think you're supposed to say that word.”

Happy presses his lips into a tight line. “Where'd you learn that?”

“Daddy,” Morgan says. “He said it's Mommy's word though.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Tony.”

Peter looks over Morgan's head at Happy, who has gone soft-eyed, smiling this tender smile like he's amused by some far off memory Peter doesn't have access to, and Peter feels uneasy, nauseated, like he doesn't belong here. He sets his drink on the table. His ears ring.

“I – I'm gonna get some air.”

Outside, the lake is still, calm. Birds sing from high up in trees. Peter breathes too shallow, trying to forget Tony's arc reactor floating across the water in a bouquet of flowers, taking him away. _Make sure this is what you really want_. 

Time catches itself again. Peter isn't sure how long he's out here before he hears footsteps, the crunching of leaves, and then Happy is beside him. They both stare out at the lake, neither of them speaking for a long moment until Peter says, “If you could bring him back, would you?”

Happy tucks something into the pocket inside his blazer. “I ask myself that question a lot,” he says. “I know Tony did what he did for a reason, and I wouldn't want to undo that. He saved the universe. But if there were no strings attached, just a simple way to bring him back?” Happy pauses, considering. “Then yeah,” he says. “I would bring him back in a heartbeat.”

Peter nods and wipes at his face. “Me too,” he says, and that's all he needs to know.

\- - -

Harley knocks on his door Saturday morning, but May answers before Peter can.

“Oh, Harley, right?” she says. “This is a nice surprise. Are you here for Peter?”

Harley, a bag slung over his shoulder, dressed in a black shirt and jeans, beams a radiance of cool Peter wishes he was but knows he could never be. He doesn't tense up, doesn't show any sign at all that they're about to break into a building and travel through time and space.

“Yeah,” he says. “I'm a little early. Thought I'd swing by and see if he was ready.”

Peter stumbles down the hall, shoving his foot into his sneaker, one arm stuffed into his coat. His backpack bumps into his thigh, the box inside jostling.

May says, “Do you want to come in? It looks like he's in the middle of having some kind of teenage issue.”

Peter slips past her. He grabs Harley by the arm and yanks him away, dragging him toward the elevator. “Nope, he doesn't. See you later, May.”

“Make good choices,” May calls.

Inside the elevator, Peter pulls the rest of his coat on and checks to make sure the Pym Particles haven't spilled out. Harley regards him with mild amusement.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” Peter says. “I'm just naturally a mess.”

Harley has never been on the subway before, so Peter shows him how to buy a pass and how to go through the turnstile. They make their way through groups of people, Peter keeping his backpack close until they reach a nearly empty platform. A light about them flickers. Harley glances around.

“When is it supposed to be here?”

“It's the G train,” Peter says, checking his phone. “It kind of just comes when it wants to.”

It arrives twenty minutes later, and Peter and Harley sit at the back of the train car, a lady and her daughter the only other people with them. Peter is buzzing with nerves, his knee bouncing. Harley is close enough he must be able to feel, but he doesn't comment on it.

“I looked you up, you know,” he says. “After the funeral. You're pretty impressive. Do you have powers or are you just, like, insanely strong and agile? I'm assuming powers. I saw that Youtube video of you catching a car.”

“I don't know if I would call them powers, but yeah. I was bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“Seriously? That's so cool,” says Harley. “And those webs, do they, uh, you know –” He makes a vague motion that takes Peter's tired mind a few seconds to figure out. When he realizes what Harley means, he jumps.

“No! Gross. Why does everyone think that? They come from these.” He yanks up his sleeve, showing Harley his webshooter and a glimpse of red and blue fabric. Harley pokes at the bracelet, leaning close to examine it.

“You say 'radioactive spider' and there's only so much a guy can think. Did you make this?”

“Yup.”

“And your suit? Did you make it too?”

“Tony made this one.”

“Hmm.” Harley nods a little, looking thoughtful. “Did he put retro-reflective panels in it?”

Peter frowns, fixing his sleeve again. “In my _suit_?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, no. But now I wish he had.”

“He never did listen to me.”

In Brooklyn, they walk three blocks from the station to the Stark Tower. It occurs to Peter, belatedly, that maybe he should have thought about how they'd get in before now. Maybe should have planned this whole thing better. He'd gotten the box and ran to Harley, the only person he thought would understand – and for good reason, because Harley still hasn't asked why Peter came to him of all people – and he hasn't stopped moving since then. His life has been on autopilot, leading him back to Tony. He has to do the rest of the work now.

“Erm, okay,” he says, counting floors. “I can scale the building and try to find an unlocked window. There's gotta be an alarm, so breaking one will probably get the cops called on us. But there's, like, hundreds of windows. One of them has to be unlocked.”

“That's a good idea,” Harley says. He digs through his pocket, pulling out an ID card like the one he had back at his dorm. “Or we could use my proxy access.”

Peter gapes at him. “What the hell? You have access? How? That's not fair.”

“Tony had me visit a few times.” Harley swipes his ID over the reader near the entrance. The front door clicks as it unlocks. “Gave me clearance so I could come back whenever I wanted.”

“Sure, give Harley clearance but not me,” Peter mumbles. “I'm Spider-Man.”

“Bring your bruised ego inside, Spider-Man,” Harley says.

The front lobby is dark and empty, and Peter spares a glance at the high ceilings, the marble floor, the giant screens on the walls. He never visited the old Stark Tower. It was damaged when he was a kid, and Tony sold it long before Peter ever came in contact with him. He wonders if this one looks like that one did. He wonders just how much of Tony there is here.

“You coming?” Harley asks, already moving across the place, heading toward the back. Peter jogs to catch up.

“How are we gonna find this thing?”

“I already know where it is.” Harley uses his ID again to open the door tucked in the corner. “I did some research of my own.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I'm invested. It's a whole thing.”

Peter catches Harley's wrist, stopping him. “Harley.”

“What's up?” Harley asks.

“Just … thank you,” Peter says. It's not enough to tell Harley how much this means to him. Peter doesn't have the words in his vocabulary to explain the feeling welling inside. Appreciation. Relief. Hope. He's making it through the night.

Harley smiles and tugs him along. There's a lot of open space in this area of the building, like no one quite figured out what to put here when it was built so they decided not to put anything at all. Florescent lights hum and spring to life at their arrival. Peter passes large columns and generators and almost collides into Harley when he comes to a halt.

“Found it,” Harley says, and there it is, a circular platform with three metal arms lining it. Against the wall is a desk cluttered with switchboards and knobs and a strange looking laptop. Peter sets his backpack on the ground and kneels in front of it, pulling out their supplies while Harley investigates the tech.

“Okay, this is a lot,” says Harley. “You brought those instructions, right?”

“Here.” Peter brings the paper over to him.

“Guess the first thing would be turning it on.” His finger hovers over a switchboard while Peter scans through their guide.

“That one,” Peter says. “The black one.”

Harley pushes it and the desk vibrates gently, red lights popping up across the machines as they turn on. The easiest part is over.

Together, with the help of handwritten notes, they tweak devices, plug numbers into the laptop and adjust dials. They try one test and it fails. They adjust again. Their second test fails too. Then the third, the fourth. Peter reads the note out loud.

“I don't get it,” he says. “Why isn't it working?”

“There's gotta be something off.”

They keep trying. Harley modifies their equations, double checks each factor. It fails. They try once more. Nothing. Peter threads his hands into his hair, despair threatening to overcome him. This part he never thought about – the machine being broken. If they can't get it on, if nothing they do works, the whole plan will go to waste. Everything will be over.

“Wait,” Harley says. “I see it.” He hits something else, and then, from behind them, the platform whirls, the arms glowing. Breathless, impossible. They've done it.

“ _Shit_ ,” Peter says, laughing.

Someone clears their throat.

Peter's face falls. He exchanges a look with Harley. They both turn around, locking eyes with Bruce Banner, who is standing near one of the pillars, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Dr. Banner,” Harley says.

“Um,” says Peter. “It's not what it looks like?”

Bruce lifts his eyebrows. “Really? Because it looks like you're about to use the quantum machine even though I specifically told you no more time travel.”

“Oh. Then … it's exactly what it looks like?”

Bruce isn't entertained. He closes the distance between them, irritation morphing his features. It's strange to Peter, who has seen the Hulk angry before, how different Bruce looks when he's annoyed, even with this new, green body.

“How'd you two get in here?” Bruce asks. “Forget that. How'd you even know where this was?”

Neither of them answer. Peter isn't going to rat Harley out, and by the way he is keeping his mouth shut, Peter guesses Harley isn't going to rat him out either. _Invested_ , Harley said. They're both invested now.

“Well?” Bruce says. “Does someone want to explain?”

Peter bites his lip. “I –”

“Give him the note,” Harley says, so Peter does, handing it over, waiting with his breath caught in his lungs while Bruce studies the writing. Time goes strange again, too slow. His heart pounds painfully in his chest.

Then Bruce looks up. “He gave this to you?”

“Um, more like snuck it into my room when I wasn't there, but yeah.”

The atmosphere around Bruce changes, his expression kinder, understanding. Peter knows exactly what he's going to say.

“I appreciate his enthusiasm, and yours too, but I told you before, we can't bring Tony back. We can't change the past. If we pull Tony out, all we're doing is opening up another new, nasty timeline where everyone loses because Tony wasn't there. I'm sorry, you two. I really am. I know you miss him, but you're not doing this.”

“Dr. Banner, hear me out,” Peter says, because Bruce hasn't read the other side, the part where it makes sense. “Don't you remember that thing with Dr. Strange? How he saw fourteen million futures?”

“I do.”

“That's where we get Mr. Stark. Not from our own, but from an alternate reality. One where we lose anyway. We find the one closest to ours and we grab him before he dies and we bring him here.”

“I don't think that's what Strange meant when he told you that.”

“But don't you think he'd be here trying to stop us if he didn't already see it happening?”

Bruce stares at him. “That isn't – do you understand what you're saying? Peter, I can't send you to a parallel universe no one has been to before. You have to have coordinates to travel to, and this isn't something we can just guess until we get it right.”

“We don't have to guess,” Harley says. Carefully, he takes the note from Bruce and flips it over, showing him the numbers, the rest of the explanation. “We have the location.”

This makes Bruce sputter. It's clear he's searching for another excuse, another reason to kick Peter and Harley out. But Peter just needs one chance. He can prove it to Bruce if he can get there.

Bruce says, “This isn't a good idea. Even if this universe exists, what are you going to do if Tony doesn't want to come back with you? What are you going to do if you go all this way and it doesn't work?”

Peter gets it now, what Harley meant. Not to make sure this is what he really wants, but to make sure he can handle it if they can't bring Tony home. This is why it hurts – because the possibility is there, because even after everything, he could still come back alone.

“It's gonna work.”

“Peter.”

“Dr. Banner, please. Mr. Stark has a daughter. He has a wife. And I'm –” _tired of losing_ , he thinks. His parents, Ben, Tony, five years of his life. He blinks tears from his eyes. “Don't we deserve to win? All of us?

Harley rocks on his heels, gaze fixed to the floor. The windows at the top of the wall filter the shifting sun in mismatched patterns at their feet. They wait, suspended, the entire world with them for this one minute, longing and buoyant.

Finally, Bruce sighs to himself and says, “We don't need to get Tony, there's a younger version of him right here.” He huffs. “All right. If we're doing this, I'm going instead of you.”

“Uh, actually, Dr. Banner,” Harley says. “I would feel better if you stayed and helped me with the controls. You have experience and I'd rather not get you stuck somewhere by mistake.”

“Damn it,” Bruce mutters. “I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. How many vials did he give you?”

Peter hurries to where he left his backpack and grabs the box, peeling back the flaps and handing it to Bruce.

“Enough for a test run and one round trip,” Bruce says. He bustles around with the same irritation from earlier, opening tool chests and drawers Peter didn't notice before. He has Peter change into a new suit that he layers on over his Spider-Man suit. He gives him a glove with a bracelet built in.

“This is just a test,” he says, typing the coordinates into the machine. “You got it? I'm gonna send you there for thirty seconds just to make sure this place is real and then I'm gonna pull you back. If anything is off, we're calling it quits. And I mean _anything_.”

Peter steps up onto the platform, activating his mask. “Got it.”

Bruce sighs again. “You're gonna feel a little discombobulated when you get there. It's normal. Try to stay out of sight. I don't know what I'm sending you into, but I have to trust this location he gave us isn't gonna drop you right in the middle of a battle. You ready?”

“I'm ready.”

Bruce starts the countdown, Harley next to him, and Peter has to hide a smile, aware of exactly the spot he's going to land. What he hasn't told Bruce, what he hasn't told even Harley, is that there was another note in the box. One meant just for him. One meant just for this type of situation. Bruce is hoping Peter won't land in a fight, but that's precisely where he is going.

“Three, two, one. Be safe, kid.”

\- - -

It happens so fast, the shrinking, his atoms shifting and molding into something new. Peter sees flashes of blue, red, purple. They soar past him, surrounding him, a tunnel leading to where he needs to go. It's over just as quick, and then he's normal sized, his blood on fire, body folded in half from the pain.

“Ow, ow, ow.” He straightens, coughing. An explosion shakes the ground. Voices yell. He's on the outskirts of this war, a reenactment of the fight where Tony died – except _everyone_ dies in this universe. Peter is just early enough to miss it.

He spots Sam flying through the air. He spots himself fighting a hoard of alien creatures.

“Hey," he says. "I look good.”

“Peter, you're running out of time,” Karen says.

“You're here too? I guess that makes sense.” He scans across the battlefield, the seconds ticking by. There. He finds who he's looking for, swings between creatures just as his alternate self leads the hoard on a chase. Peter lands with a soft thud and retracts his mask.

“Uh, h-hey. I'm Peter Parker,” he says. “So, um. This is gonna sound kind of crazy.”

\- - -

Bruce pulls him back. He pulls him back and Peter sinks to his knees on the platform, arms circling his stomach while he waits for the pain to fade.

“God, that hurts.”

“Peter!” Harley rushes toward him, but when Peter looks up, Bruce is stuck in place, eyes huge, staring at the person Peter brought back with him. He'd barely made it, reciting the words from the note as the bracelet started beeping in warning. Gave the coordinates as fast as he could. "–999. Got it?"

Bruce breathes out a strangled noise. “Nat?” he asks.

Behind Peter, Natasha's helmet folds back. The corners of her lips turn up. “Hey, Bruce,” she says.

 _Invested_. That's all Peter needed to do to get Bruce on board. The note was right. They made it.

“Okay,” he says, groaning when Harley helps him to his feet. “One down, one to go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love so far! I promise I won't take as long to upload the next chapter.
> 
> Also, because I know some people are still confused about why my old stories are gone, this is just a reminder that this is an entirely new account with the same name because I deleted the old one in an anxiety-induced meltdown. I'm working on reuploading my stories, but it'll take a little time. If you were subscribed to me before and you'd still like to be, this is the page to do so again :)


	3. Chapter 3

Of all the things Bruce could ask, sputtering, his mouth opening and closing in stunned surprise, it's to Peter he eventually says, “How – how did she get a suit?”

Peter lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “She was already wearing it.”

“Okay. That's – okay. Okay.” Bruce looks at Natasha again, his eyes watery and red. He taps his fingers against his leg. “Let me just … give me a minute.”

Peter sinks back down on the edge of the platform. His insides are still jumbled, and his adrenaline is fading fast, giving way to rising fatigue. He wants to go again. He wants to get Tony. But Bruce isn't ready. Bruce was hoping Peter would find nothing, that he could bring Peter back and convince him to call it quits and they could move on and put this behind them. Now that Natasha is here, he's been thrown off balance. Peter understands that better than anyone.

“So,” says Harley, sitting beside him, his voice low in an attempt to not draw attention from where Bruce has pulled Natasha into an embrace. “What was it like?”

The sun shifts in the sky. Peter bends his toes forward, pushing the tip of his shoe into the light. “Like someone smushed all my atoms and then blew them up.”

“Cool,” Harley says with a laugh. “But I meant the alternate universe.”

“Oh. Um.” Peter pauses, catching the sidelong glance Bruce sends his way. If he tells the truth about where he landed, there's a chance he won't be allowed to go back, and he can't risk that. “It wasn't that different from this one. You know, besides the obvious.”

“Speaking of obvious,” Natasha says. “Where are we in this timeline? How long after Thanos?”

Bruce answers cautiously. “About four months."

“And we did it? Everyone came back?”

He hesitates.

“She already knows,” Peter says, leaning back on his hands. “She knows she's dead.”

“Jeez, Peter,” Harley mutters. “Could be a little less blunt.”

“I had thirty seconds. There wasn't a lot of time for 'less blunt.'”

“It's all right,” Natasha says. She nods at Peter and Peter nods back. It's a little thing, this understanding between them. Something neither of them say out loud. _Tell her Clint is alive_ , the note read. _Tell her we won_.

Bruce is quiet.

Peter listens to the birds outside the window. He's inches away from Tony and no one is moving. It's like they can't see him. It's like no one but Peter has seen him from the last four months. In his dreams, in the faces of strangers, on the street, everywhere he looks.

He clears his throat. “Um, so. Can I –?”

“Not yet,” Bruce says.

Frustration boils low in the pit of his stomach. “What? But Dr. Banner, you –”

“Hang on.” Bruce lifts a hand, placating. “Relax. I'm not saying you can't go at all. This is just – this is a lot right now. And it's gonna be a lot for you when you go back. The quantum traveling took a bigger toll on you than I thought it would. You should rest for right now while we figure this out.”

“I don't need rest,” Peter says.

“Yes, you do. When's the last time you even slept, Peter? You look exhausted.”

“I'm fine.” Peter gets to his feet. This is trivial. Hasn't he waited long enough? Haven't they all waited long enough?

Bruce offers him a sympathetic smile, but he can't understand. Five years Peter was gone, and Bruce had Tony then, he got the days with him Peter didn't, they all got the days with him Peter didn't, and a wave of homesickness breaks over Peter at the thought, a feeling so strong he finds himself on the verge of tears. He can't go home, and he can't stay here.

“I'm doing it,” he says, stepping up onto the platform. “I'm ready. Harley, stand back.”

Harley inches away. “Peter –”

“This is what we came here for,” Peter says. “Are you in or not?”

Heat makes his palms sting. They're setting the world on fire, they're breaking everything apart. Harley can feel it. He must be able to.

“I'm in,” he says. Step into the flames and hope they don't burn.

Peter holds himself strong. “Dr. Banner?”

Bruce lifts his glasses to rub under his eyes, exhaling a long, slow breath. He could still say no. He could shut this all down with one word, end Peter's last traces of hope. 

Except –

“Let him go."

Except someone is on his side. 

Bruce turns to Natasha. “What?”

“He's going back for Tony, isn't he?” Natasha asks.

“How did you –?”

“I'm a good guesser.” Amused by Bruce's dumbfounded look, Natasha leads him over to the machines. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and inventories their equipment. “He said a lot of words really fast.”

“Of course he did.” Bruce reaches beside her to flip a switch. “After this, you're gonna have to explain everything to me.”

“Just like always.”

They grin at each other.

“All right,” Bruce says, resigned. Everyone is against him now, even Natasha. Defeat is written all over his face. “For reference, let me just state to the room that I don't like this. But I have a feeling these two over here –” He motions to Peter and Harley. “– are gonna find a way to sneak back in even if I tell them not to, so I'm helping out to avoid a bigger catastrophe.”

“Um,” Peter says. “Thanks for the vote of confidence?”

“You're welcome.” Bruce shakes his head, adjusts another dial. “You really are a mini Tony, I swear. Listen, it's gonna be different this time. I'm gonna pull you back in five seconds, but for you, you'll have however long you need. Try to get in and out as fast as you can though. The longer you're there, the more chances something can happen to you. Enter the coordinates once you're ready.”

“Okay,” Peter says, examining the bracelet to make sure it's still intact and working. He tries to ignore the tremors working their way down his arms.

“Will he need another suit?” Harley asks. “To take to Tony?”

Natasha says, “Not if he's going back to the same moment. Tony will have one.”

Peter activates the suit of his mask. He shakes out his limbs.

“Peter,” Bruce says, and waits till Peter looks up. He softens his tone. “Come back. You understand me? Even if it means you're alone. Come back.”

Three sets of eyes focus on him. He's got one chance. No note to help, no instructions to guide him anymore. It's all or nothing.

“I will.”

He goes.

\- - -

He lands in the spot he and Natasha left from. There is chaos, weapons firing, debris kicking up with every step as people run by. Peter winces and rubs at the sharp pain in his chest.

“Man, I thought it would hurt less this time,” he says. He squints, following movement across the battlefield. “Hey, Karen, you with me?”

“I'm here, Peter,” Karen says.

“Great. Can you run a facial scan for Mr. Stark? Er, for Iron Man, I guess? It's kind of hard to see and I don't have a lot of time to look.”

“Scanning now.”

The inside of his viewfinder changes colors, Karen zooming in on faces and highlighting red. Ant-Man, stretched high toward the sky, stomps by, and Peter jumps out of the way as his giant foot crushes rubble and space dogs.

“Jesus.”

Karen recalculates, searching again, but before she gets far, a voice behind Peter calls, “Look alive, kid!” the same time warmth tingles at the base of his skull, and he ducks, avoiding the creature that goes soaring over his head.

He whips around. “Whoa. Hey, thanks. I –” Lights flash across his vision, the scanning process complete. Peter doesn't need Karen to tell him he's found who he's looking for. Tony is standing right in front of him.

All the air leaves his chest. Peter sees memories like flashes of scenes in movies. Tony in his apartment, recruiting him, sitting next to him on his bed. Tony inviting him to be an Avenger. Late nights at the lab. The day his internship became official. Dust and stars and too much orange. Tony's eyes glassy and unfocused, his arm destroyed. _We won, Mr. Stark. You did it._

Four months and ten days, and Peter has imagined this exact moment, imagined what he'd say, how he'd feel, what he'd do. He thought he'd have the advantage here. Thought he would be able to scour the battlefield and find Tony from afar, build up the nerve to approach him. He didn't think Tony would find him first.

His mask retracts. “I …” His heart pounds frantically against his ribs

Tony fires a laser at another creature and it crumples to the ground, screeching. “You all right? You get concussed or something in the two minutes since I last saw you?”

“Two minutes?”

“Yeah.” Tony's helmet folds down. He takes in the white outfit briefly, but he's tracking something behind Peter, distracted. “Oh,” he says. “You're not this Peter, are you? I'm assuming not, because there's two of you right now and I'm almost sure I'm not hallucinating. Could go either way though.”

Peter swallows and tastes salt. He can't afford to cry. “I –I'm from a different timeline.”

“I kind of gathered that much from your getup,” Tony says. “Come to admire the view? Or are you gonna help out?”

“I came to get you. To bring you back with me.”

“That's nice and all, but I'm a little busy trying to save the world right now. Big fight going on, if you didn't notice.”

Explosions sound around them. No one is playing tag with the gauntlet, which means this universe isn't as close to Peter's as he thought it would be. It should be raining fire from the ship above. They should be trying to get the stones to safety.

Peter's spider-sense hums in warming again, and he drags Tony behind an upturned piece of concrete that acts as a barrier between them and the ball of fire that lands where they were standing. The note didn't give him a timeline, but it did tell him he wouldn't have long.

“Mr. Stark, you have to listen to me,” he says. “You're in danger. You gotta come back to my time.”

Tony tilts his head. “And what time is that, exactly?”

“I – um. That's kind of complicated.”

“Right," says Tony. "Kid, sorry to waste your time, but I can't leave my own universe to help with whatever's going on in yours. We're in a war here. I have to fight for the world I live in.” He peeks over their barrier and moves to leave. “You should go back. It's not safe.”

Peter grabs his arm. He can't let him go. Not again. “Fourteen million,” he says.

Tony peers down at him. “What?”

“That's what Dr. Strange said. He saw fourteen million possible futures and we lost in all of them but one.” Peter tightens his hold. Bruce's words echo his fears. _“What are you going to do if you go all this way and it doesn't work?”_ It has to work. He's not ready to say goodbye. “Mr. Stark, this isn't the future where we win.”

“Yeah?" Tony says. "How do you know?"

“Because I'm from the one we do.”

A second explosion shakes the ground. Tony barely reacts. Some part of him must believe Peter, because he's looking at Peter the way Peter looked at him when he watched him die – like it's not real, like he'll blink and wake up and it will all be a lie.

He says, “So why are you here?” and he sounds far away, the way he sounds in Peter's dreams. Never close enough to touch. Never there for long. Peter is losing him all over again. “If you win, why try to get me to come back with you?”

Peter's heartbeat races in his ears. “B-because, in order to win, you – you –” He can't say the words, not here of all places, but Tony gets it anyway.

“I sacrificed myself?”

Peter nods, yes, and Tony looks past him again, up at something Peter can't see from where he's crouched. For a moment, the world goes silent. Maybe he wasn't ready for this. Maybe the universe is no longer on his side. Maybe it never was.

“We die here?” Tony says. It's not a question. He knows the answer.

“Yeah.”

“All of us? Not just me?”

“All of you," Peter whispers.

A burst of wind tousles his hair, and with it comes a flash of red, Dr. Strange touching down beside them. He purses his lips at Peter. “Nice of you to finally get here.”

Tony rounds on him. “You knew he was coming?” 

“Clearly.”

“Then you know we're all about to die.”

Strange doesn't answer this. He waves a hand, forming a golden circle in the air to deflect against the sharp pieces of metal flying his way. He glances over his shoulder.

“You're running out of time, Peter,” he says.

“You said fourteen million,” Tony says as he stands. “Is the kid right? Do we lose?”

“If I tell you the outcome, it won't happen.” Peter stands too, and Strange meets his gaze. “But if you want my opinion, you should go with the kid.”

How can Peter make him understand? He searches desperately for something that will convince him. “Mr. Stark, my world isn't that different from yours. You're still married to Pepper. You still have Morgan. Everything is the same up until this fight. You're just –”

“Dead,” Tony says. “I'm just dead.” He racks his fingers through his hair. “I got it.”

“I didn't mean –”

Strange jerks his head to the side, away from them, his expression hard. “He's got the last stone. Peter, you have to go. Now.”

Peter fumbles for his bracelet. “Come with me, Mr. Stark,” he begs. “There's no reason you have to die in both our worlds. Please.”

“Peter, go!”

 _Pay attention_ , the universe says. Purple light floods over them. _Make sure this is what you really want_. Across the ruins, Thanos slips the stone into the gauntlet. _Come back. Come back._

He told Bruce he'd come back – even if meant he was alone.

“What are the coordinates?” Tony asks. Peter relays them as he types them into his own device.

He's out of time. Tony hesitates, but Peter doesn't get the chance to make sure he's with him. He hits the button to return, and Thanos snaps.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Far From Home day!
> 
> I was gonna try to make this the last chapter of the story, but it's taking me so long to write that I decided to end the chapter here so I had something to give you. I figured something is better than nothing. I'm off to go see FFH now! (But please don't post spoilers in the comments. I got part of the movie spoiled for me and I don't want to see it happen to anyone else. Let's give everyone a chance to see it) :)


	4. Chapter 4

Peter's feet slam into the platform hard enough to send vibrations up his legs, and for a moment he's not sure if he's actually back or not. He sees white. He feels numb, empty. A second ago, an entire world ended, everyone wiped from existence, and he's here, safe, alive.

He pulls his mask up and blinks until his vision clears. Still in the same place as when he left, Harley and Bruce are wide-eyed, stares boring into him. Peter's heart sinks. He must be alone. He must not have convinced Tony after all. They warned him about this, didn't they? Warned him he could do everything in his power and it might not be enough.

He opens his mouth, thoughts swirling, but Bruce speaks before he can get a chance.

Breathless, he says, “Tony?” and Peter freezes. His throat constricts. It takes him a minute to separate reality from the haze of brightness shadowing his mind. They're not looking _at_ him, they're looking _behind_ him, and he turns, slow, scared of what he'll find, to look too.

The abrupt image of Tony standing there makes Peter feel like he's falling – through time, through entire years, to Tony saying, “ _I wanted you to be better_ ,” and Peter trying again and again, one failure after another, but finally here's his triumpth. Here's everything he worked for.

The universe, it turns out, was on his side after all.

Bruce says, “You're – ”

“Alive?” Tony finishes, and Peter is surprised by how weary he sounds. “Yeah, looks like it.”

Peter laughs – a long, humorless sound teetering on hysteria. No one says anything. Or maybe they do and he can't hear it. This is days of no sleep. This is months of aching and longing and grief. This is everything catching up to him all at once. He can't ward off the exhaustion anymore. It's all he can do to stay standing.

He laughs again. “Okay, cool,” he says, retracting his mask. “I'm, uh – I'm just gonna –” And his knees buckle.

The things is, Peter always hits the ground, one way or another. But this time, arms reach out to catch him, to steady him, and they fall together.

This time, it doesn't hurt at all.

He welcomes the blanket of the darkness.

\- - -

When he does wake again, it's without really waking. He's so warm, so tired, that he doesn't open his eyes. Thoughts drift away from him, slippery and distant. Something warm rolls over the bridge of his nose and he reaches up to wipe it away.

He doesn't dream. Voices come and go, and somewhere in the back part of his consciousness he's aware he isn't in his own bed. Sleepy and dazed, he cracks open one eye, the other buried into a soft pillow, and sees an empty chair pressed against a beige wall. Words bubble under the surface of comprehension, repeating themselves like a mantra. Peter closes his eyes again and feels the same sensation from before, the wetness on his nose, the droplets disappearing into his hairline.

Someone says, “Kid? You awake?”

Peter nods into his pillow.

"Thought so,” the person says. “Bruce owes me ten bucks. He said you'd still be asleep for another few hours, but I'm pretty sure he was trying to slip you a cocktail. The drug kind, not the alcoholic kind. Either way, he's a cheater.”

There's silence a long moment, and then the person says, “You all right, Pete?” It weighs too much for Peter to ignore, the first edge of clarity in this cocoon of detached comfort. He forces himself to open his eyes once more.

Peter can count the number of times he's woken to see Tony, can name the places his face appeared like an illusion, on billboards and magazines and in movies and, at one point, in the reflection of a store window where Peter reached out toward it, his fingers inches from the glass before he stopped himself. It took seconds, sometimes minutes for Peter to ground himself, to remember Tony wasn't there, but he feels it in every part of him now as Tony looks back at him from where he's sitting in the chair by the wall, feet away. The repeating words from before form into sounds Peter can make sense of, growing louder in his mind.

 _We won, we won, we won_.

_We did it._

“Mr. Stark?” he croaks.

“Yeah?" Tony says.

Peter, curled up on his side, wiggles his arm out from under him and pushes himself up. Pressure in his sinuses makes him sound congested when he whispers, “You came back.”

“I did,” Tony says. “Though I can't take the credit. Strange did it for me. Activated my bracelet at the last second.”

Peter thinks back to standing on the battlefield, the flash of light as Thanos snapped, Tony hesitating.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly. “I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. It wasn't fair.” He knew it would happen. He knew there were fourteen million versions of the world that didn't make it, fourteen million versions of _himself_ that didn't make it, but he can't help but mourn for those who never stood a chance.

“It's not your fault, kid,” Tony says, relocating himself to sit on the edge of Peter's bed. He squeezes Peter's knee through layers of blankets, and Peter realizes now that the reason Tony asked him if he was all right is because he's crying, because he was crying even while asleep.

He smears tears across his cheeks. Four months Tony was gone to him, five years he was gone to Tony. Peter leans forward, without care, without embarrassment, and hugs him. 

“Oh,” Tony says, teasing as he returns the embrace. “This is nice.”

Peter laughs and it sounds wet and strangled. Later, Bruce will call him an anomaly, a frustrating mystery. A mini Tony walking amongst them, he'll say, dramatically, like it's both a blessing and a curse. And maybe it is. Peter doesn't know. He just knows this finally feels like the victory he's been waiting for.

"I missed you, Mr. Stark."

"I missed you too, kid." They pull apart and Tony knocks him gently on the side of the head. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, wiping at his face. "Are you? I know this is probably really weird for you, being here and all.”

Tony stretches his arms, shrugs. “It's something,” he says, in a way that makes Peter think he's trying to brush off the ugly parts of this. He's older now, grayer, more lines around his mouth and nose. But he's still Tony.

“We'll talk about it later, okay? It's not important right now,” he says, and ignores Peter's quiet, “I'm sorry.” He looks at his watch and grabs a glass of water off the nightstand, passing it to Peter who gulps it down in one go. “You wanna get some more sleep or you wanna join the party?”

“Party?” Peter asks.

“Yeah,” says Tony. “The whole gang's here. Everyone heard about your rescue mission. I mean, Bruce called them, so it's not a surprise, but you know how these things are.”

Peter takes a moment to examine the room they're in. There's nothing extraordinary about it. A brown dresser, a window, a bed, the nightstand. It's not a hospital, but that's all Peter can tell.

“Are we in the tower?”

“Yup,” Tony says.

“How long was I out?”

“You're rounding on seven hours.”

“Whoa.” Peter sets the glass down. He scrubs a hand through his hair and tries to flatten his curls. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“Yeah, not sleeping will do that to you. You can keep resting. I'll let everyone know you're extending your siesta. Bruce will be so glad. Don't let that big, green exterior fool you. He's sentimental at heart.”

“Yeah,” says Peter, softly. “I think I'd like to join you guys though. Um, do I – is my stuff here? I wanna change out of my suit.”

Tony reaches down by his feet and grabs Peter's backpack, dropping it in his lap. “There's a bathroom next door. Just go down the hall when you're done. You'll hear everyone. Trust me.”

Peter takes his stuff into the bathroom and gets changed back into his normal clothes. He checks his reflection in the mirror, tries again in vain to tame his hair, and washes his face.

Halfway down the hall, he's hit with the smell of food and the sound of laughter. He steps out into a common area much like the one at Harley's dorm. Couches form half a rectangle, a coffee table centered between them, and spread across the room are a dozen people he last saw at Tony's funeral. It's an entirely different atmosphere now, people chatting, joking, cartons of Chinese food in hands and beer bottles lining surfaces. Harley is squished next to Morgan, giving her instructions while she taps away on a tablet, and he glances up at Peter.

“Hey,” he says, detaching himself from Morgan's side, looking at her screen as he stands. “Wait, get that tree there. It's a coin.”

“Nuh uh,” Morgan says, and then, “Oh.”

Harley joins Peter. “How're you feeling?”

“Good,” Peter says. “Better.”

“You freaked me out,” Harley says. “You dropped so fast. I thought something went wrong with the quantum machine, but Dr. Banner said you passed out from exhaustion. Still scared the hell out of me.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck, his backpack danging from his other hand. “Sorry. I didn't really feel tired or anything until right at the end. Kind of hit me all at once.”

“It's fine. Just nice to see you up again. You've been sleeping a long time.”

“I can tell," Peter says. "When did everyone get here?”

“A little while after we got you moved up to a room. You want something to eat?”

“Sure.”

On the other side of the room is a small kitchen, and Harley steers Peter toward it. Tony is there too, shifting through a drawer under the counter, counting beneath his breath. He peers at them over his shoulder. “Ah, if it isn't the dream team. Kid, what did you do with all the forks? We don't have enough chopsticks.”

“Huh?” Peter asks.

“Not you,” Tony says. “Other kid. Wow, two kids. Kid squared.” He stops. “Shit, am I gonna be on some kind of list now?”

Peter and Harley exchange frowns. “What?”

Tony says, “Never mind. Forks?”

“I gave them to Happy,” Harley says.

“Pointing fingers. I like it.” Tony closes the drawer. He takes them both in for a moment, a smile tugging one side of his mouth up. “The dream team,” he says again, a fondness in his tone. “Never thought I'd see the day.”

“Are you getting emotional?” Harley says. “Should I call for help?”

“You should find me some forks is what you should do. And give me your keycard while you're at it. I need to change your access.”

“Ooh, can't." Harley pats his pockets. "I misplaced it. What a shame.”

“Uh,” says Peter. “Speaking of, why didn't I get access? You invite me to be an Avenger, but you can't let me inside buildings without a guide?”

“Look at the time,” Tony says, turning over the wrist his watch isn't on. He jabs a finger at Harley. “Forks.”

Harley waves him off. “Yeah, yeah. Forks.”

“And eat something,” Tony says to Peter. “Mingle. Everyone wants to talk to you.”

Peter sighs as Tony disappears back into the main area. “Great.”

Bucky gets to him first after Harley finds a stash of plastic forks, and he ruffles Peter's hair and says, "You did good, Webs. Nice to know napping isn't the only thing you're capable of." Happy finds him too, and his expression is gentle and sincere, his gratitude something Peter doesn't feel like he deserves. There are a lot of people here Peter never thought he'd see together again – Sam and Rhodey and Wanda and Natasha and Clint and Bruce and Pepper– and once they become aware Peter is awake, they turn their attention on him.

When he breaks it apart, whatever this is, whatever it was, Peter can only admit the truth: he didn't do this to be a hero. He did this because he was tired. He did this because their victory wasn't a victory, it was a tragedy, and Peter was holding out hope they could win if he could just make it. That's all he had to do. Hold on until the final buzzer. Block the goal one last time. Find Tony. But no one cares about the broken pieces. His idols in front of him, soft-eyed and curious. They just want to know how Peter did it, and so he tells them about the note and the Pym Particles and Harley and Bruce.

Sam, eyebrows drawn together, says, “Dr. Strange left them for you?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter says. “The box was in my room after I came back from that fight with Sergeant Barnes and Colonel Rhodes. I guess he put it there while I was gone.”

“There were two notes,” Tony points out. “And I'm not saying I read them, but I read them. That second one wasn't Strange's writing.”

“You think someone else left the kid that stuff then?” Rhodey asks. "I thought you said Strange knew Peter was coming?"

No one is surprised by this information, and Peter has to remind himself how long he was asleep. They've covered a lot of ground without him. 

“That doesn't mean he wrote the second note," Bruce says, unimpressed but not mean, just worn out. The seven hours have dimmed the frustration burning in his bones. He'll pull Peter aside an hour from now and thank him, but for now he says, “Peter didn't tell us about that note at all. It had specific instructions on how to bring Nat back. Like, very specific instructions.”

“I'm sure Strange was the mastermind," Tony says. "But doctors don't really make house calls these days, do they? They have assistants to do their dirty work. Kid, can you get that note out? Bruce put it in your backpack."

Peter digs it out of the front pocket of his bag and hands it to Tony, but Tony moves to where Bucky is perched on the arm of a couch and lets him take it. Bucky reads it over, the confusion on his face melting into amused disbelief.

“Steve, you son of a bitch,” he mutters.

“Wait, Captain Rogers wrote that?” Peter asks. It would be naive to say he didn't notice the different writing, but more naive to say he would have ever guessed Steve was the mastermind behind bringing Natasha back. He told Peter exactly what to say and it worked flawlessly. “So … it was him who sneaked it into my room?”

“Seems exactly like something he'd do,” Sam says, stepping up to read the note too. Bucky gives it to him and shakes his head.

“Man, Steve teaming up with a wizard. I really have seen it all.”

“Okay, old man,” Sam says.

Natasha, sitting with her legs touching Clint's, says, “Where is he anyway? I need to thank him.”

“Yeah, me too,” Clint says.

“He didn't tell us,” says Bucky. “Said he was going out of the country and wouldn't be available for a while. Put all his faith in this guy over here.” He jerks his thumb toward Sam, who rolls his eyes. Then he nods toward Peter. “And I guess this guy too.”

Peter shrinks back, holding his backpack tight.

"Maybe you'll stop falling off buildings now," Sam says.

Later, when Pepper hugs him, Peter will remember Harley's word. _Invested_. That's what they all are, isn't it? Such a simple, singular term. He thinks about this while he watches from the corner, watches everyone laugh and toast, drowsy with affection and adoration.

His eyes fill with tears. Tony touches something on Morgan's tablet and Morgan whines, complaining he made her die, but he leaves Pepper to deal with the fall-out while he moves to Peter and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks.

Peter nods.

The world has aligned again, and he's not sure where they go from here, not sure about anything really, but they're all together and that's all that matters. He did it.  _They_ did it. 

"Then come join us," Tony says. "Show me where all these coins are."

Peter laughs. "All right."

Invested.

It's a closing wound. It's time for them to heal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines that didn't make the final draft:  
>  _"So what are you gonna do now?" Tony asks._  
>  _"I dunno," Peter says. "My science class is going on a field trip to Europe in a few months. That should be fun."_
> 
> You guys, thank you so much for all the love and support on this story. Last chapters are a bit paralyzing for me, but this whole thing has been such a blast to write and it has made me so happy reading your responses. I hope you enjoyed! <3
> 
> [and here's my Tumblr again, if you wanna hang out](https://jbsforever.tumblr.com/) :)


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